


Wrong

by snowpuppies



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: AU, Angst, Dark, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-04
Updated: 2009-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-02 07:06:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowpuppies/pseuds/snowpuppies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where things have gone wrong, Spike and Dawn have a routine. AU of 6.2 - <i>Bargaining, Part 2</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [Kitty Poker](http://kitty-poker1.livejournal.com/).

The movie's been over for ten minutes—static plays across the screen until she flips the channel, where a very _tan_ old guy in a green apron is directing the audience in greek-chorus style to 'set it and forget it'—before she finally eases herself off the couch.

She sneaks past her bodyguard—still as death, on the other end of the sofa—breathing a sigh of relief when he doesn't move. Tiptoeing into the kitchen, she cracks open the fridge.

"Bit?"

"Ugh." She rolls her eyes, opening the refrigerator door wide with no care for the squeaking hinges. What would be the point?

She reaches for the milk as he enters the kitchen, bleary-eyed and sleep-tousled, blinking against the glow from the ice-box.

"You're supposed to wake me." He comes closer, reaching towards her, his hand barely skimming the curve of her shoulder, sliding down to rest gently on her elbow.

"I'm just getting something to eat. Just chill, ok?" She shuts the door forcefully and turns to rummage in the cabinets for some cereal.

He follows and she can feel his presence, hovering behind her—not warm, but somehow…_there_, even if she can't see him.

She sits down at the table and fixes her meal.

He stands beside her, silent.

There was a time that he'd have plunked down next to her, filling his own bowl with Frosty Flakes and blood, a running commentary on how the texture added to the feeding experience spilling from his lips between bites.

But that was _before_.

A lot of things happened _before_.

She finishes her cereal and puts her bowl in the sink. The steps creak as he follows her upstairs.

He stands outside the bathroom while she pees and brushes her teeth. She looks into the mirror and likes that she's as alone as she appears, if even only for a moment.

It's strange. She remembers _before_, when all she wanted was to be noticed, to belong, to matter. To not be forgotten.

Now, the ten minutes she spends by herself in the bathroom every morning and evening is something she treasures.

And yet, even now, with her 24/7 vampire shadow, she doesn't think she's ever been so alone.

When she enters her room, he turns away, standing exactly between the door and the window while she changes into her pajamas. It's a routine, and some might find it weird, but he won't leave her there unattended, and she doesn't have the heart to make him leave.

She crawls into bed and he pulls up the duvet, tucking it gently around her frame before turning out the light.

She peers into the darkness, listening to the rustle of his clothes, the squeak of his duster as he curls up in the floor. When he's finally still, she closes her eyes.

 

***

 

Mostly, she dreams in black and white.

It's the same every night.

_It starts with the screams; Willow's sobs drown out Tara's whimpers. Xander screams and Anya babbles, wanting to know why it's happening, what she did and why they can't stop it. She calls out for D'Hoffryn, but he doesn't answer._

_No one does._

_She hides in the closet—knees tucked under her chin—and shuts her eyes, silent tears streaming down her face, as it all comes to an end. _

_Soon, the screams die out, and all that she can hear is the thump of her heart, beating wildly and she presses against her chest, trying to make it be quiet, because she's scared out of her mind and she doesn't want **it** to find her…_

_And suddenly, the closet door is wrenched open and the room is filled with light._

_Cold, glassy eyes stare at her._

_A hand, small but deadly, reaches for her and she cowers, rolling herself into a ball and pressing her back against the boxes of Mom's clothes that she and Buffy just couldn't bring themselves to get rid of, and she just can't hold it in anymore, so she whimpers._

_Fingers knot in her hair and she's pulled from her hiding place, and she knows she's about to die and she can't think of what Buffy would do because it's too wrong to think about and when the hands wrap around her throat the world begins to fade and just as everything goes grey…_

_She wakes to blood. So much blood._

_Bright crimson against the monochromatic backdrop of her home; it covers the house, splattered against the kitchen cabinets, soaking in the sofa, dripping from the banister…_

_And soaking the vampire crouched in the corner, head buried in his hands as his blood-sticky fingers comb through matted blonde hair._

_She trips over something and falls into the end table. A cool hand helps her up and she glances down. _

_It's Tara. _

_Or she thinks it might be._

_She throws up on the living room carpet; smooth hands hold back her hair, cool fingertips resting over her erratically beating heart._

_She begins to sob, comforted when his voice joins her own, and they cling to one another._

 

***

 

The routine continues, just as it has for the past four months.

She thrashes in her sleep until he crawls into bed next to her, wrapping a cool arm around her waist, trapping her flailing legs with one of his own, pressing soft kisses against the back of her neck, the moist skin of her brow.

It's the only time of day when his glazed, fragile façade begins to crack, and she remembers the Spike he used to be.

And even though it's the same…always the same, day in and day out, night after night, she won't change anything, she can't change anything.

There's nothing left, and the only thing they can do is carry on in this stilted half-life they live, each terrified of being alone, yet unable to truly give each other what they need.

But they have this moment, this connection that flares between them every night, one instant in which the terror leaves, and they begin to feel safe at last.

So every day she stays—inside where he can protect her, shadowing her movements like the memories of happier times, never forsaking, never forgetting—and every night she dreams of the day her sister came back _wrong_.

 

 

_FIN_.

 

Originally archived [here](http://snowpuppies.livejournal.com/180142.html).


End file.
